Dear Diary
by Samwysesr
Summary: A collection of Diary/Journal entries from different characters POVs throughout the series.
1. Rose

Dear Diary,

God I feel stupid just writing that. Diaries are _so_ not my thing!

Apparently my little incident with Mia outside the church yesterday didn't go unnoticed. (Like it's my fault she's determined to piss me off?) As a result, I got another lecture on not being ruled by my emotions.

To make matters worse, s_omeone_ had the bright (note the sarcasm) idea that writing my feelings down might help me with my so-called 'impulse issues'. Supposedly, if I write everything down at the end of the day, I can look back and see what set me off and then make a conscious decision to try and control myself the next time a similar situation arises.

Personally, I think it's a load of zen crap, but since Dimitri asked me to do it, I'll give it my best shot. He's the only one in this whole damn school that's willing to give me a chance—to help me to prove to Kirova and the others that I have what it takes to protect Lissa. You'd think that keeping her alive for two years out in the real world would be looked on as a positive, but instead they all focus on the fact I put her in danger in the first place.

Anyway, I'm beat and have to get up for training in a few hours, so—

Later!

Rose

* * *

**_A/N:_**_ These were used as an exercise at getting into the characters heads and were previously posted on one of my RP accounts (the Dimitri entries were posted on my friend Aleks' account, but I wrote them for him) and someone asked me to please post them here so they could find them all in one place. I have over a hundred of these written, and will try to add one or two a day, depending on my schedule and how my mom is feeling—aka if real life gives me a chance to do fun stuff._


	2. Rose -2-

Dear Diary,

I think my body is finally getting back into the swing of things. It still hates me right now—don't get me wrong—but every training session it gets a little… well, not easier, exactly, but it's like my muscles are remembering the moves and do them with a lot less trouble. I'm still sore most of the time, and tired—God, I could sleep for a week—but in the end I know the end results will be so worth any discomfort I have right now.

My Russian Jailer might be a slave driver, but he's also gonna be one hell of a mentor. I know he'll teach me everything I need to learn in order to keep Lissa safe, and that, dear diary, is the important thing.

It's weird, but I get the feeling he's still expecting me to grab Liss and make a break for freedom. He's shadowing me—trailing me around, showing up in my classes. I'll just be sitting there, minding my own business and trying to follow whatever boring shit my instructors are spouting out, then all of a sudden, I just get the… sense... feeling...whatever—I just somehow know he's in the room. And sure enough, I'm right, every damn time.

Even weirder is the fact that my training sessions have become the highlight of my day—I can't wait to get to them, even though I know it means working my ass off. For some reason I can't wait to see Comrade, and just… be near him. Okay, I DID NOT just write that. What the hell is wrong with me tonight? I must be more exhausted than I thought.

More later, I need a shower.

Rose


	3. Rose -3-

Dear Diary,

You know what's weird? The fact that Dimitri still doesn't trust me. I swear to God, every time I turn around, he's there, lurking. As if he's expecting me to grab Lissa and make a run for it the first chance I get.

It pisses me off, because I thought we were past all that. I was really beginning to feel like we were… friends. Well, as close to friends as it's possible to be with someone who tortures you on a daily basis. Obviously I was wrong—he see's me the same way everyone else in this damn place does, as a troublemaker.

Somehow he's even managed to get himself assigned to the guardian roster in most of my classes. Every time I glance around, there he is, standing along the back wall with one or two other guardians. The other novices have been giving me shit about it, teasing me about my 'Russian Jailer'.

Lissa says I'm overreacting, and that I need to relax. But what the hell else am I supposed to think? It's not like he's following me around because he _wants_ to. It's his damn job, and obviouslyI'm just the troubled student he's having to babysit.

Speak of the devil and he shall appear. Gotta go, he just showed up and is staring holes in me from across the quad. I swear he acts as if I'm late for…

Oh shit.

I forgot about our extra training.

Later—

R


	4. Dimitri

How I let myself be conned into keeping a formal journal is beyond me. Normally I simply jot down notes of my daily activities and thoughts in the small notepad that is always in the pocket of my duster. Now however, since I have committed myself to this task, I suppose it would be best if I transcribed my prior notes into a separate book like this and label them as an addendum. Of course, I have so many notations that entering them all would be a monumental task—something I have no time for. Since this entire endeavor is in part due to Rose, I think perhaps I will simply start the addendum from the day I met her.

But back to the matter at hand. When I suggested that keeping a diary might help Rose with her control, she rebutted with typical Rose logic (the way her mind works is truly astonishing). Smirking up at me, she pointed out that I, myself might benefit from doing the same thing, seeing as how she sometimes frustrates me to no end.

As her instructor, I could have ignored her smart mouthed quip, but I've come to realize that sometimes with Rose it is better (easier!) to just agree rather than to argue. In other words, I made a deal with her—if she would make an effort to keep a daily record of her life and the things that bothered her, I would do the same. (Not that I particularly have the time to be doing this—between shifts and training my stubborn Mentee, spare time is not something I have an overabundance of.)

In all honesty, I would much rather be using my all too rare spare time to finish reading Last Stand at Papago Wells than doing this, but a deal is, after all, a deal.

-DB


	5. Dimitri -2-

It has been several days since I bothered to write in this book, and I feel strangely guilty about it. Almost as if I am betraying Rose by not honoring my part of our foolish agreement. My life is so uneventful—for the most part—that I think it would bore anyone who might happen to read this were I to write in it every single day.

Not much has happened other than my never ending shifts around the academy. I did manage to break up a fight between two of the novices after Alto's theory class yesterday, but it's not as if it were a great challenge to separate two teenage boys—all I really had to do was step in between them and give them 'the look' and they both apologized and headed on their way. I almost wish they had continued fighting or perhaps even thrown a punch at me—at least it would have been a change from the tedium.

Ah well, such is the life of a guardian. Better to face the boredom of endless patrols than to be out in the world with the constant threat of a Strigoi attacking ones charge. That will happen soon enough, and then I'll probably look back on this time at the academy and mourn the loss of so much peace and quiet.

-DB


	6. Dimitri -3-

I have noticed something that disturbs me greatly, and I have no idea what to do about it.

I find myself looking forward to my daily training sessions with Rose. I've actually caught myself spending the day counting down the hours until we'll meet again. More problematic is the fact I've also noticed that I tend to spend my spare moments lingering in places where I know she might appear.

I tell myself it is just because I am her mentor and as such it is my job to keep her out of trouble, but deep down I fear that it is so much more than that. My dreams are haunted with the image of her beautiful, smiling face. The memory of her body pressed against mine as we train lingers in my mind long after the sessions are over, and I feel as if the only time I am truly alive is when she is near me— as soon as she walks out the door, I am an empty shell, just waiting to be made whole again.

This can't be good.

The worst part is that there is no one I can discuss it with. There is no one I dare confide my troubles to for fear they might misconstrue them and assume the worst. At least I have this empty book that she has conned me into filling—in it I can vent my fears and frustration without worry of being judged for the thoughts that plague me.

-DB


	7. Dimitri -4-

How is it that a person can be mature beyond their years when it comes to some things and yet so childish when it comes to others?

I agreed to give Rose some extra training this week—the fact she has been struggling in combat class since her return was weighing heavily on her, and she asked for guidance. I decided that in addition to our morning and evening routine, this week we would meet for thirty minutes during her lunch hour as well. She seemed grateful at the time, but apparently I misjudged her reaction.

She forgot about me... or rather, she forgot our midday session.

I hunted her down—luckily I knew exactly where she'd be—and found her scribbling away in her diary.

I'm making her run an extra fifteen laps for keeping me waiting her tardiness.

-DB


	8. Dimitri -5-

_**A/N: **Please note: For some reason removes the strikethrough from words, and I can't stop it from doing so. please note that if you see * * around a word, that word is supposed to be lined through—in this case it is the word *Rose*—as if he wrote it and then marked through it. Sorry about that, I even went into html and tried to insert the proper code, but ff keeps removing it._

* * *

I have not written in this for quite a few days, and I know I must catch up soon. I have a feeling Rose is beginning to look for excuses to call off our agreement, and it would be so like her to demand to see this journal to confirm I am keeping up with my part of our bargain. I will catch up, but at this time I do not feel like recording current events. Tonight my mind turns to the past, and to home.

I have spells, from time to time, where I miss my homeland greatly. This is a beautiful country, full of opportunity, but still, it is not my country. My periods of missing home have been few and fat between of late, and I suspect it is because my mind has been occupied with thoughts of *Rose* other things. But tonight, the loss of the life I once had plays upon me greatly. So I put down my thoughts here, with the hopes that it will erase my melancholy.

I do not know what brought on the feeling tonight—I was finishing up my patrol shift, and was just in the edge of the forest behind the building that houses the large cafeteria and kitchens. Perhaps it was the way the smell of the freshly baking bread mingled with the sharp, biting scent of the pine trees around me, or maybe the way the last rays of the sun hit my eyes. Whatever it was, my mind was instantly transported back to Baia, and for a brief moment I was a small boy again, sitting on the floor by my grandmother's chair with my head resting on her knees.

Every day Grandmother would tell me fantastic stories; tales like The Golden Slipper or about the fearsome Rusalka. Sometimes she would recount stories of Baba Yaga and brave little Vasilisa, or she would produce a worn blue book with a tattered cover and read me stories from other countries like Snow White and Rose Red. I always enjoyed the time I spent there, listening to her soft voice with my eyes closed as the words she uttered spun into magical images behind my eyes. The only times I did not enjoy myself were when she would stop reading, sometimes in mid sentence, because I knew it meant she was having a vision—something terrifying to a small boy of six. Her entire demeanor would change, her voice deepening as her thin hands clutched at my shoulders, and she would utter things that made no sense to me. It was always the same thing, and sometimes I still hear her predictions echoing throughout my dreams.

"You must pay attention Dimka! Memorize the tales, my boy, because they have a special meaning meant just for you."

Then, exhausted by her prophecy, she would slump back in her chair, fast asleep. Always I would check her breathing and cover her with a quilt before running upstairs, eager to let my mind roam free. There I would settle down on my bed and daydream about how the story may have ended had her gift not interrupted, and I would stay lost in my thoughts until mama came home, calling me down to dinner.

When we were a bit older, my sisters and I would sneak out of the house as soon as grandmother fell asleep in her chair. We would hurry to the edge of town, eager to be in our meadow, where my sisters would busy themselves collecting wildflowers while I sat by, content to watch the beauty around me. Sometimes I would take a book and settle myself at the base of a tree, ignoring the teasing of Karolina and Sonya as I lost myself in the tales of the long gone days of the cowboys.

I felt a deep hunger to be one of those brave men, riding into battle to fight back hordes of savage Indians, or to sit atop a stagecoach with a rifle, protecting the passengers within from robbers. My favorite book had a well-worn binding, and many of the pages had worked their way free, but I read it again and again. It was the only story my father ever read me, and that was why I cherished it. I can still remember that two week visit—every night he sat at my bedside, his deep voice rising and falling as he read. He had altered his pitch and tone to represent the different characters, his face as expressive as his voice. It is the only good memory I have of the man; I try not to think of it as the pain of his actions still lingers inside me.

Our group escapes to the meadow stopped once little Vika was born; someone had to stay behind to watch her and I always volunteered. I was her older brother, meant to protect her, after all. From the moment she arrived my small sister captivated me, each small smile or giggle delighted me in ways I had not imagined possible. As she grew, she became my best friend. I was the one who taught her the little things like how to tie her shoes properly or how to ride a bicycle. After the incident with my father, I was determined to protect her from the dangers our world posed to females of our kind. Ah my sweet young sister, how I miss her. How I miss all of them.

All those memories raced through me as I stood on the edge of the trees, and for a moment I closed my eyes, lost in dreams of home. I saw myself lounging on the sweet smelling grass, the sun high above and shining down on me as a faint breeze trailed loose pieces of hair over my face. I saw all three of my sisters standing nearby, laughing and teasing me for burying my nose in yet another western, and surprisingly enough, another figure stood beside them, her arm around Vika as they tried to cajole me into chasing after them. It was Roza, and she fit so perfectly into the image, I couldn't help but let out a small, contented sigh.

On nights like this, I cannot help but wish that somehow I could live that dream. If I could live my life with Roza by my side, near my family in beautiful Russia, I know I would be a happy, happy man. But such things cannot be, so I write them here with hopes of erasing them from my mind. For a guardian, dreams are dangerous things, and I cannot continue to indulge in them.

-DB


End file.
